


I Get Around

by starkind



Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan), DC Cinematic Universe, Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Attempt at Humor, Billionaire Shenanigans, Classic Cars, Crossover Pairings, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Cruising, Drunk Driving, IronBat - Freeform, Limousines, M/M, Mild Language, Pre-Iron Man 1, Pre-The Dark Knight, Sex in a Car, Silly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-15
Updated: 2017-04-05
Packaged: 2018-09-17 11:20:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9321179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starkind/pseuds/starkind
Summary: Tony is not on his best behavior.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title courtesy of The Beach Boys' song from 1964

Everyone knows Tony does not like to ride shotgun, let alone get schlepped around. Even Happy does. Still, he keeps on working as his chauffeur, for those occasions when Tony's going a little overboard on the booze. This does not happen that often, recently. But it happens. And when it happens, it's usually with Pepper and Happy around, to ensure their boss' safe departure from whatever venue he decided to go heavy at.

Both Pepper and Happy are not around when Tony is in Gotham; this time at a boring shindig founded by his most cherished person on earth. Bruce Wayne is a closet teetotaler and always fools the public by drinking ginger ale in favor of real alcohol. This means that, usually, Tony is fine around him. Bruce is a health nut when not playing the rich airhead, and his attitude on clean eating and exercise does rub off on the Stark heir.

Living healthy is fine by Tony if it means getting served protein smoothies after a round of great sex. Sex is the best exercise there is, after all, and sex with Bruce is like a marathon, minus the broom wagon. To be honest, Tony loves Bruce quite a lot, even if he never voices it. Bruce in turn never voices it either, but they steadily keep on finding their ways into each other's lives, heads, phone lines and beds for the past two years.

This is why Tony gets a little off the rails when Bruce is schmoozing a trifle too much at galas. At present, it is just a wimp reporter with glasses in an ill-fitting suit with bad posture who takes up all of Wayne's precious time, but still. Not fair. Bruce is supposed to keep his attention on Tony all the time. Thinks Tony. Apparently, Bruce disagrees. Once that happens, Tony decides to treat himself to a hearty dose of Grey Goose on ice.

He then goes and focuses his attention on a beautiful specimen called Selina Kyle. Mind you, he was never opposed to a nice set of tits, even if the arrow of his bisexual-o-meter tends to dip deep into Bruce Wayne territory lately. Only the Prince of Gotham is too busy to notice. Thinks Tony again, and gets proven wrong. Because Bruce notices. And oh, how he notices.

The way his finely-trimmed brows crinkle at the center, while he still keeps on donning the babbling twit persona, gives him away. Too bad Tony is on his fourth vodka by now, and beyond caring. Selina, the sly minx, has one hand under his jacket by now as well, and her long, red nails rake across his thin shirt. He giggles, a trifle too loud so that a couple of other guests are risking a glimpse.

When Bruce then detaches himself from the reporter and moves through the crowd towards them, it reminds Tony of Moses parting the Red Sea. Selina gets the full-blown Wayne charm which sends her off soon enough, while Tony gets a pissed off Bruce lecturing him in a private corner of the premises. Needless to say, they part on less than amicable terms that night, leading to Tony getting behind the wheel of his sleek Audi R8.  
  
He is so not staying in Gotham. Screw that breakfast at Wayne Manor's orangery, and screw Bruce (or... not).  
Only Tony does not make it home without being pulled over for speeding; on the very homestretch of the PCH.  
And that is how Anthony Edward Stark's driver's license came to be confiscated after scoring a BAC level of 0.05%.

A terrible mug shot and some ungodly hours spent in a Los Angeles' cell reeking of piss and sweat and whatnot later, Tony is sentenced to a mandatory suspension of 30 days. In the end, there is bail and a hefty fine to be paid, Pepper and Happy are wearing grumpy faces for the rest of the day after picking him up, and he gets ordered to deliver a speech on not drinking and driving at the LA High School.

All in all, nothing problematic. Tony knows he can handle that. Easily.  
He is more annoyed at the fact that Bruce has not bothered to contact him.  
Asshole.

~

On a bright Thursday morning, the black Rolls Royce Phantom waits for him outside of his mansion. A sullen Tony Stark drops onto the back with a grunt, glimpsing at the partition wall that is up. That never happens; only if Tony has some action going on in the back, which, sadly, is not the case ever since he and Bruce are on incommunicado. Which they are for about a whole week now. Bummer.

His tries to get the wall to lower remain futile, seeing it is locked, just like he finds out the speaker system that connects him to the driver is muted. Seeing they are already rolling down the driveway, Tony shrugs it off. He is not in the mood for small talk anyhow. Instead, he props up an elbow on the middle console and sulks to himself. His thoughts stray to Bruce, to the speech he is about to give, and back to Bruce.

Once they are entering the PCH, something terrifying happens. The Rolls surges ahead at full speed, and it presses Tony into the leather seat like some high-G centrifuge training at NASA. Happy is in a mood, apparently. As they continue to zip past cars and trucks alike at worrying velocity, Tony starts to become confused and irritated. If his chauffeur gets a speeding ticket, who is going to drive him for the rest of the month?

Pepper? Obie? Both options are making his skin crawl, even if for different reasons entirely. He tries to lower the partition wall again, even bangs his fist against it. Nothing. Instead, he has to make sure to buckle up - to avoid getting thrown around the spacious back like a rag doll after the Rolls all but drifts to the left. Moments later, Tony bounces up and down on the spot as they encounter several speed bumps along the way.

His expensive designer shades lose the battle with gravity for good and go flying through the air. Tony's knuckles are turning white as he claws into the leather left and right of his seat while screaming Hogan's name until they begin to slow down somewhat. And just when he is thanking the maker for letting him keep his breakfast, the Rolls is starting to do a series of donuts at some sort of huge parking lot.

Happy is as good as fired, Tony is going to make sure of that. As he holds on for dear life while the world spins around him, tires squealing and screaming, he shouts out the foulest profanities he can come up with until the car stops with a jerking motion. Even through tinted windows, Tony can see the smoke billowing out from underneath the luxury limousine, obscuring the view of his surroundings.  
  
Once the door opens, Tony all but crawls out, sunglasses forgotten.  
He pulls himself up on the door handle, squints hard, and glares up.  
“... You son of a bitch!"

Standing there, dressed in full chauffeur regalia, driver's cap drawn deep into his face, two familiar, astute eyes blaze back at him.  
Bruce Wayne the fucker even has the audacity to smirk at him. Bastard _never_ smirks.  
“Your audience awaits.”

Tony looks around him and sees at least thirty awestruck teenagers who are cheering for them and the burnt rubber marks on asphalt.  
From the looks of the five members of LA High's faculty administration, they do not share this mutual, adolescent enthusiasm.  
Bruce's saccharine voice then reaches his left ear.

“I'll pick you up at 2.”  
If only the jerk would not be looking good enough to eat in that tightly-pressed uniform.  
Tony seethes along as he strides into the building, fully intent on getting his payback later on.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks @ Batsocks for the plot bunny, even if it strayed far from your original prompt.  
> Apologies to the idea of doing donuts in a Rolls Royce, but as I've come to learn, it IS possible. Oh well.  
> Bottom line of this stupid fic: Don't drink and drive, no matter what!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look what manifested itself - a second chapter. There might be a third part, but for now, some IronBat on the road :)

As it turns out, having Bruce Wayne as your own, personal chauffeur is all kinds of neat. It does not take Tony long to discover just _how_ easy it is to play the game according to his own rules. From then on, all bets are off. The first thing he does is go and give Happy a couple of well-deserved days off. Then he goes and calls up his boyfriend, all pacific and cooing. Apparently, Bruce does not know yet what he has signed for.

“You dug that hole for yourself, buddy. Now stop moping and come pick me up, I wanna go cruising.”

Their conversation goes a bit to and fro after that, with Bruce refusing in his usual, morose ways, and Tony launching one big sap show. He singsongs all about his plans to go driving without a license, get arrested, get thrown in jail and never seeing Bruce again for the upcoming six months, at least, if not longer. Or at all. Oh, it is so downright pitiful, his exaggerated guilt-tripping, but here's what happens.

Bruce Wayne -goddamn Batman, moralist, and self-declared savior of the broken, the beaten and the damned- does cave in. Eureka!

“Just this one afternoon. Have a car ready at 2:30.”  
It is not only the car that is going to be ready, Tony smirks to himself.  
Time to step up his game.

And so Mister Stark awaits his chauffeur du jour sitting in, no, pardon, _draped all over_ the passenger seat of a 1959 black Buick Electra Convertible. The car is hot, Tony is even hotter. He wears a pair of sleek, mirrored sunglasses, faded denims and designer sneakers, and a black jacket left open to reveal an equally revealing, dark polo shirt. And yes, that was a barely contained smolder Wayne just threw him upon arrival.

Tony caught it, fleeting as it was.

Bruce then eyes the classic car from front to back before getting into the driver's seat. Tony sprawls out some more, legs stretching, and tilts his head back to look up at the sky. Oh yeah, he is _so_ working it, and it starts to slowly have the desired effect. “Any particular route you'd like to go down?” It is quite a relief that Bruce Wayne's attempted innuendo is just as bad as his current poker face.

Tony purses his lips because he likes to play coy and pretends he actually thinks about it. “Take me...” The seductive pause is _so_ there. “... somewhere we can be by ourselves.” Much to his credit, Bruce does not fall for his stunt that easily (not that Tony figured he would – he enjoys a challenge just as Bruce does) and instead roams a scrutinizing glance all along the leather dashboard, getting familiar with the instruments.

“Mulholland Drive then.”

If there was any hint of doubt the Gothamite would be thrown off balance when facing a special ride like the Buick, it vanishes when Wayne clasps the delicate, large steering wheel, turns the key and puts the automatic transmission into driving mode. The convertible purrs underneath their feet. “I'd rather not have you screwing up this marvelous baby...” Tony's drawl is basically a purr, too, and on top of that, also overtly sexual.

“... because I volunteer in its place.”  
Okay, his own innuendo skills have been way better, too, but that was ages ago.  
Again, Bruce pretends not to be fazed as he takes a look in the rearview mirror and sets off.

~

The first part of their cruise has quite a bucolic feel to it. East of Laurel Canyon, the road plunges into a crater at the top of the hill and immerses in a milieu of grass hillsides, trees, and other flora. After crossing back and forth over Woodrow Wilson Drive three times, things start to get a little tedious and not terribly interesting. That is when Tony requests a stop. “I need to stretch my legs.”

He crawls into the back, fully intent on giving Bruce a long, gracious view on his infamous bubble butt. As soon as the engine is turned off and Wayne is sufficiently turned on, the latter eventually decides to follow him over into the leather backseat for a long overdue making up and screwing session. “You are pathetic.” Bruce's murmurs are muffled while he nips at Tony's exposed neck, brushing a hand down his crotch.  
  
“Still fell for it.”

Thankfully the Buick is spacious enough for two grown men with long legs (Bruce) and broad shoulders (Bruce again) who get very handsy in no time (Tony all the way). In the end, Bruce gets more upset over the fact that he has to pay for gas on their way back (because Tony happens to have forgotten his wallet) than over the muscle he pulled in his inner thigh during certain... positions held for a prolonged time.

His handsy (but quite mellowed out) boyfriend keeps on lovingly massaging the area in question, to “return blood flow”. Bruce does not have the heart to tell him it is not the lack of blood in that area (quite the contrary) and rather enjoys his post-coital, private physio session in equally mellowed out silence. It is a nice, sunny day, the road is free just like the rest of his day, and the Gothamite ponders doing this more often.

Besides, the Buick really is a beautiful and enticing piece of national craftsmanship.

Then again, Bruce Wayne muses, so is Tony Stark.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This part got totally inspired by a smoking hot b/w photoshoot of RDJ from 2008 for Rolling Stone Magazine. The jury is still out on the true nature of the car used in the shoot, but this is totally the look for Tony in this story: 
> 
> http://www.laineygossip.com/Content/images/articles/rdj%20rs%201%20aug08.jpg
> 
> (also, one line from a My Chemical Romance song snuck in here - all credit to the writer/s of 'Welcome to the Black Parade'. In fact, it was a neat Batman fanvid found on YouTube that prompted the use of this quote ;))


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time to wrap this mini-trilogy up: Once more in the name of rich boys & their toys, please!

“Master Wayne?”  
  
A disdained growl arises from under the sheets. A hazel eye peeks out soon after to look at the alarm clock on the nightstand. Bruce Wayne's countenance follows suit, looking frazzled after a long night of Batman patrolling the streets. “What is it? I told you not to wake me before 3 pm.”

Alfred Pennyworth, being his usual, noble self, takes the disgruntled mood of his protege with a dignified tilt of the head. Nevertheless, he goes and pulls at one of the heavy brocade curtains to which bright daylight streams in. Wayne gives a non-Batmanish mewl and pulls the covers back over his head. “Indeed you did, Sir. I just figured you might want to have a look at the spectacle outside?”

“If it's not an emergency, I'm not interested.”  
The voice is muffled. The butler watches how the hand dangling over the rim waves him off.  
“Oh, I do believe it does bear _some_ qualities of an 'emergency', Sir.”

Interest piqued, and moreover unable to fall back asleep with a face full of springtime skies, Bruce eventually disentangles from his soft Eiderdown blanket and sits up. He winces a bit at the overall soreness of his body but follows his butler out onto an elaborate west balcony that overlooks the estate. For Gotham City, it is actually a pretty nice day, Bruce notices as he squints around with a hearty yawn.

Birds are softly singing in the trees, the sun is trying its best at peeking through the clouds, almost succeeding every now and then...

… and down there is Tony Stark, taking Bruce Wayne's brand new Rolls Royce Wraith out for a dirty spin around Wayne Manor's groomed premises.

Oh.

If Bruce thought that by laying some serious pipe in a Buick, Tony has forgotten all about his earlier chauffeur stunt, he is in for a very nasty awakening. From up above, the Gothamite and his butler have no choice but to watch Stark go crazy inside the black, luxury automobile. Tony's revenge on his boyfriend is there, is real, and is a sight to behold. Apparently, not only Wayne knows how to properly excruciate a limousine.

The Wraith slithers across the dewy grass like a Holiday on Ice show gone ad absurdum. It veers around old, ancient trees, always on the verge of grazing them, but never actually doing so, and then accelerates on flat terrain to disappear around the Manor in a cloud of dust and mowed green, out of its inhabitant's sight. To the left, Alfred remains professionally quiet, even if one of his eyebrow twitches ever so slightly.  
  
Bruce Wayne, sporting a bedhead, no shirt and a pair of thin pajama pants, remains unmoving. It is the nonplussed expression on his face that prompts Pennyworth to step back inside and bring his robe. After shrugging into it, Bruce goes back to leaning far across the heavy stone balustrade of the balcony, so that Alfred feels compelled to grab him by the belt of said robe, just in case.

“Did he just...”

“Quite so, Sir.”

After a little while, the Wraith passes the Manor's master bedroom suite and its private terrace once more. The driver window lowers and a hand appears, giving a jaunty wave and wiggle of its fingers before Tony floors it one more time and goes chasing down the lawns of Wayne Manor like a madman. Funny, Bruce muses, he has never given the Manor's ancient torture chamber a thought. Until now.

“Shall I call the gardener first thing in the morning, Sir?”  
Alfred's voice is leaking professionalism as usual. Bruce forces his too tight jaw to unclench.  
“Yes, please.”

  
_Le Fini_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The culprit that inspired this third part is called 'The Garden of Wraith' and can be found here:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ap9eROAo82U  
> (also, kudos to that license plate ;))


End file.
